


After All We Got Up To

by shipsdrifting



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cheese, Fluff, Gen, OT5, OT5 Friendship, zouis fight
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-24
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-04-11 00:35:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4414040
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shipsdrifting/pseuds/shipsdrifting
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Niall, exasperated after the Zouis twitter fiasco, lures Zayn and One Direction to the same location and holds them hostage until they work their shit out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	After All We Got Up To

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is fairly ridiculous. Also, it's fictional fiction, and I know nothing about the real people in question, nor about Bono or his guest houses. This story is nothing but a delusional headcanon I invented to make myself feel better about life. Enjoy?

 

Zayn pinches the smooth fabric of his duvet between his fingers as the phone continues to buzz beside him on the bed. He considers allowing it to continue ringing unanswered, even now that he’s seen who's calling.

He hasn't spoken to any of them in at least a week. To be honest, he hadn't spoken to them very much before that, anyway. He debates simply letting it lie, maintaining his distance from real life and real problems for just a while longer. But in the end, his curiosity - and maybe a bit of loneliness - wins out.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Z,” Niall's voice says into the phone. He sounds chill enough, not _angry_ , at least. Not that he'd expect that from Niall; but even so. It feels good to hear his voice again. “How've you been?”

“Okay,” Zayn answers impassively, unsure of what to say. _Angry at your bandmate. Sad. Confused. Happy and empty at the same time._ “How about you?”

“I've been well,” Niall enthuses, jolly as ever. “Spending time with me family. Golfing. Working on the new album. The usual before the tour starts up again, you know.”

“Yeah.” Zayn swallows, decides he can't just ignore the obvious. “Thought you might not want to talk to me, like. After -”

“That twitter shit with Louis?” Niall asks, seemingly unfazed. “Nah, 's none of my business, right? I mean, you both've always been dickheads, so.”

Zayn makes a noise in the back of his throat, preparing for yet another attempt to defend himself, even though he's not even sure he knows what he would say anymore.

“Save it,” Niall interrupts before he can even start. “'s between you two. I'm not arguing.”

“Okay,” Zayn agrees, feeling a bit deflated, even if it's for the best.

“Anyway,” Niall continues. “I miss you, man. I'm still here in London, and I was hoping we could get together before I leave. Haven't seen you properly in ages. I'm only here a few more days, and then we're gonna go to LA for writing and recording and promo. And then the tour starts up again, so I won't have time to do much of anything.”

“Yeah,” Zayn snorts. “Don't I know it.” He still has nightmares about their tour schedules. They’d gotten better over the years, but he still didn’t even know where he was half the time.

He pauses as he full processes Niall's request. He hasn't actually seen any of them in over a month, not even on Skype, not since that tense night in Hong Kong when everything fell apart. Considering the way things have gone, he wonders if he should just leave it alone.

“So what do you say, wanna hang out?” Niall asks, breaking the silence. “I have this mate with a guest place he said I could use whenever. Sick place, not far from you. It's fucking huge, has a cinema and bowling alley and everything. A proper mansion.”

“I dunno,” Zayn hesitates with a sniff. “Won't the other guys think it's weird?”

“They're not in charge of us,” Niall says breezily. “Besides, they're all, like, half a world away. Who says they'll know?”

True enough, Zayn concedes. He'd thought that seeing any of the boys would be awkward, after all this time, but Niall? He can handle Niall. Awkwardness is nearly impossible to come by around Niall Horan.

“C'mon, it'll be like old times,” Niall presses. “Me and you, movies, junk food. Plus, lots of alcohol. What d'you say? Friday, say, afternoon?”

“Fine,” Zayn agrees with a sigh. “Okay. Friday. Sounds good.”

“Perfect, I'll text you the address. Actually,” he hums, “I can send a car. That okay?”

“Yeah, sure, whatever.” Then, “Thanks for calling, Ni.” He’s not sure what he did to deserve someone like Niall, but he’s forever grateful.

“Thank me later,” Niall says. There's a strange edge to his voice, a tone that Zayn can't quite place, but he shrugs it off.

And maybe that was his first mistake.

 

*******

 

“Why are we doing this again?” Louis asks, slumping down in the armchair. The rough fabric scratches at his elbows.

“Because Jamie can't leave the country,” Liam says, infuriatingly patiently. “Detached eye, Niall said -”

“Detached retina,” Harry corrects, and Louis would laugh if he weren't so grumpy.

“Right. Detached _retina,_ Niall said. He can't fly for another week, at least, and we don't have that kind of time. So we have to go back and work at his place for the weekend.”

Louis doesn't move except to roll his eyes back in his head. “If only we had some way of communicating with a person in a different location,” he says, voice dripping with sour sarcasm. “Oh, and if only – I mean, it would be absolutely _crazy_ if we could even _see_ the person at the same time.” He rubs his chin exaggeratedly before holding up a finger. “Oh, wait! Silly me, there's this magical thing called _Skype_!”

“Really, Louis?” Harry asks, giving him a look.

“You know it's not the same,” Liam adds, more gently.

“Don't be a dick.” That's Harry, and it makes Louis shrink into himself a little.

He _is_ being a dick, is the thing. He has been, ever since – he doesn't even know why he feels so bad about it. He wasn't _wrong_ to call them out like that, okay, not completely. Zayn is the one that publicly insulted _him_. Zayn is the one that left them in the middle of their tour with hardly a goodbye, to start a new life with his shiny new best friend, without giving even a single thought to any of them.

But just - ugh. Something isn't sitting right with him. He's been moody and short-tempered, unable to focus or stay motivated to do much of anything for the past few days. Everyone has noticed; even Niall said something, and that was over a phone call across a bloody ocean. He probably shouldn't even be going, to be honest. He'll be useless for songwriting in this state, unless they're planning on writing songs about moping. He's pretty sure he could write a fucking _ballad_ of moping.

“Anyway,” Liam says, waving the phone in the air and drawing his attention back. “Don't forget. You're leaving tomorrow morning; Harry and I are different flights, but we shouldn't be that far apart. Sounds like they already have everything set up, so the drivers'll know where to take us when we get there. Okay?”

“Fine,” Louis grunts.

 

***

 

The brick building is conspicuously placed, right behind a shopping centre and nearly within view of the grounds of what looks like a sizable college.

That should have been Zayn's first clue, really. The security guys would be having kittens if they were here: it's in full view of the road, surrounded by plenty of open space, without so much as privacy shrubs. There's only one front door, and any fire escapes would have to let out practically on the main road running behind the building.

But Zayn doesn't think much of it; he just gives one cursory glance around the vacant surroundings before stepping out of the car and trotting up to the front door. A place like this should have some kind of fancy security system to get in, but he doesn't see a keypad or anything, merely a simple silver doorbell. He presses with one finger.

The door bursts open to a flash of blond hair, and Zayn is enveloped in a hug before he can say a word. Niall has always been like an overeager puppy, but Zayn has no complaints, leaning into the warmth and the familiar smell.

“Hiya!” Niall says, finally pulling back from the hug with a huge smile. He looks curious, a little devious in a way Zayn can't pinpoint, but Zayn loses that thought as soon as he notices the surroundings.

Niall had said the place was big, but this house is truly _massive_. What Zayn had assumed to be a building housing a few separate lofts is actually a single enormous home, the structure gutted out into a huge mansion. He's standing in the middle of a multi-story foyer, the interior all silver and sparkling yet somehow chic and modern. A high, arched ceiling hangs above them, and a giant spiral staircase leads up to what must be at least three more stories.

“What kind of crazy millionaire guest house is this?” he asks, gaping.

Niall barks out a laugh. “You're a millionaire too, remember?”

“Yeah, but not like this.” He doesn't know who Niall's friend is, but this is light-years away from anything he'd ever dream up for himself, much less for a _guest_ house.

“Um. Whose place is this, again?”

“It's one of Bono's guest places,” Niall shrugs, as if it's the most normal thing in the world.

“ _Bono_? Since when do you know Bono?”

“Oh, you know,” Niall shrugs. “I've met him a few times, here and there. He’s Irish.”

And with that explanation, he turns to wave Zayn through the foyer. “Anyway, you hungry? Plenty of food stocked up in here.” Zayn shakes his head, and Niall continues excitedly. “Then lemme show you the rest of the house first. Did you know there's a full-sized swimming pool in the basement? Not that you'd be interested,” he adds with a chuckle. “And a squash court. And a cinema, somewhere over there -” he waves to the left “- and a gaming room...” he trails off. He practically skips ahead as he leads Zayn down a series of winding hallways that Zayn will never be able to trace his way back from, chattering as the pass room after room.

Niall's phone buzzes just as they peer into a massive room that looks like a library, metres of dark wooden shelves neatly stacked with books and DVDs and music. “I swear, there's every genre of everything in here,” Niall says, before glancing at his phone.

Zayn crosses the room to examine the DVD collection. There must be thousands.

“Ah, I've got to make a quick call,” Niall says then, waving his phone in the air. “Why don't you pick out some films, if you'd like.”

“Sure,” Zayn traces up and down the stacks. “Hey, where's the loo?”

“To the right, I think,” Niall says, voice trailing away as he jogs out the door. “Or maybe down here. Must be one somewhere...”

Zayn shakes his head, already feeling a little more at ease with Niall's humour and charm as the footsteps fade away down the hallway.

 

***

 

They all roll up to the driveway at the same time, Louis looking up from his futile game of Candy Crush to find Harry and Liam's cars, black tinted sedans identical to his, idling neatly in front and behind his. All of their doors open at nearly the same time. It's disconcertingly synchronized.

Louis isn't sure where they even are, besides in front of a huge brown-brick building he's never seen before. He grumbles as he grabs his bag and heads up the pathway behind Liam.

Niall greets them before they even arrive at the porch, opening the door with a grin and beckoning them inside. “Welcome!”

“Thought we were going to Jamie’s place?” Harry inquires, jogging up the steps.

Louis squints skeptically. “Is there even a recording studio in here?”

“Yep,” Niall answers as he leads them through the doorway, and suddenly Louis believes it. All their eyes bug out. It's a huge place, all dark wood and silver trim and high ceilings, and somehow bigger than it looked from the outside.

“Whose place _is_ this?” Harry asks, eyes wide with awe. It's just the sort of place that Harry would love: modern yet classic, all black and silver and straight lines, elegant but just lavish enough.

“It's one of Bono's guest places,” Niall says, nonchalantly. “Said we could use it.”

“Whoa.” Harry blinks. “I didn't know you were such good friends with him.”

“ _Irish_ ,” Niall replies with a little shrug and a grin, looking at them as if they should have known the answer already. Louis snorts; they probably should have.

Liam raises an eyebrow. “Do you just know every Irish person?”

Niall shrugs again, unbothered. “I try,” he says, genuinely, before turning back around. “Now c'mon! This place's got everything.”

He leads them across the foyer and up a spiral staircase, dark marble clicking below their feet. “Check out the balcony!” Niall waves them forward and slides open a floor-length, tinted glass door, revealing a massive marble balcony, practically a patio suspended three floors up. They all walk to the edge and look out over the conspicuous view of London. There are some college buildings and a shopping centre across the street, and behind that lies the distant London skyline, a rare blue sky hanging above the scene.

“Hey,” Niall says, and they all turn around. “Smile.” Niall has his phone held out, and he snaps a photo of them leaning beside the balcony.

“Imagine if you posted that photo,” Liam chuckles. “A college right there in the background. We'd never get out of here.”

“Nope, we wouldn't,” Niall laughs.

They trail back inside and start down another hallway. Suddenly, a faint thumping of footsteps sounds from downstairs.

“Hey, c'mon upstairs!” Niall yells.

“Oh, I didn't know he was here already,” Harry comments. Niall doesn't respond.

Then a voice speaks, still a little muffled. “Sorry,” the voice says. “Think I got lost in here, like. It's so big.”

Louis stiffens as he realizes that the voice doesn't sound like Jamie, or Julian, or any of the other guys; that it actually sounds kind of like -

And he hardly has time to register or even think that thought, before they round the corner and come face to face with the speaker: _Zayn._

 

*******

 

“What the fuck?” Zayn utters, stepping back as if threatened. He _is_ threatened. All three of them are here, Harry and Liam and _Louis_. For a moment, Zayn’s mind flashes with the absurd thought that maybe they all came here to see him. Butthat idea is quickly shattered when Louis speaks.

“Why is _he_ here?” Louis spits, recoiling backwards, posture like an angry cat.

Liam and Harry stand silent and frozen behind, as if they don't know what to do. And Niall – well, Niall just looks pleased, his face painted with an uncharacteristically smug grin.

“Niall?” Louis begins threateningly, eyes not averting from Zayn's. “What is this?”

“I tried to get you to talk it out,” Niall says patiently. “But that obviously wasn't working. So I thought I'd help you.”

Niall steps aside from between them. “Louis, Zayn,” he introduces them exaggeratedly. “Thought you could sort things out better this way. See, just the five of us, just like the first time we got together.”

“There's no more ‘five of us,’” Louis bites out. “He doesn't belong here. Simple as that; nothing to sort out.”

“Just that he's an arsehole,” Zayn shoots back. “Nothing we can do about that, clearly.”

“And he's a traitor.” Louis says, pointing a finger. “A liar and a traitor and -”

Zayn turns away, exasperated and itching with discomfort. He knows where Louis stands. It’s pointless. “Look, whatever. I'm leaving,” he says, holding his palms forward and backing away. He doesn't even have a car; he shouldn't have let Niall send to pick him up. But he can call someone else, for a driver or for one of the security guys that Simon's people keep trying to throw at him; he can walk out to a taxi, even. Anything. He slides his hand into his pocket. “Just have to call a car,” he mumbles.

“You are not leaving,” Niall commands. “No cars.”

“Either he leaves or I will,” Louis says spitefully.

“Neither of you is going anywhere,” Niall interrupts, tapping on the back of his phone with a fingernail.

Louis squares his jaw. “Well I'm not staying.”

“Don't be a baby.”

“I'm leaving,” Louis repeats, and Niall waves the phone in his hand.

“Ya know, I didn't think I'd have to do this so soon,” Niall says, voice vaguely threatening. He holds forward his phone, and Zayn looks closer. It takes him a moment to see what's on the screen: it appears to be the draft of a tweet with a photo: a photo of Liam and Louis and Harry on what looks like the very balcony behind them right now, their exact surroundings plainly visible in the background.

Louis must know, too, because his eyes narrow. “You wouldn't,” he says decisively, making to grab for the phone nonetheless. Niall pulls away and raises a defiant eyebrow.

“I would.”

“You are actually mad,” Louis declares. “That's it. I'm leaving.”

Niall might actually be mad enough to do it, is the thing. He obviously put in enough effort and planning. “Louis - ” Zayn warns.

Louis spins around and jabs out a finger at him. “ _You_ don't get to talk to me.” He turns back around to stalk away.

And then, Niall's finger taps the corner of the screen. A soft chirping sounds as the tweet is posted.

“It's done,” he says smugly.

“What the fuck,” Zayn and Louis sputter at the same time. They glare at each other.

“Oh look, I accidentally left location services on, too. Ha-ha.”

“You know Paddy's gonna kill you," Louis states. “And they're gonna take that down, like, immediately.”

“Well, it's already done,” Niall grins.

Harry and Liam are glancing at each other incredulously. Zayn is just trying not to scream.

“I'm leaving right now,” Louis declares. “I can still beat them.”

“If only your driver was still here,” Niall says wistfully. “If only I didn't tell him to go out and enjoy himself for a few hours, same as all the security guys.”

“I'll call him,” Louis counters.

“There's a shopping centre, like, three blocks away. There's a college right there that let out about ten minutes ago. Who d'you think will get here first?”

And Zayn can't leave now, either; if anyone saw him outside walking away after that photo, it would bring on an even bigger shitstorm.

Zayn didn't sign up for this. He signed up for a chill day with Niall, not a gathering with a person who hates him and two others who probably also hate him.

“You can't – fuck!” Zayn growls and stomps out the door. He enters the first room he sees and slams the door shut behind him.

 

***

 

“You can't just do this,” Louis yells, chasing Niall down the stairs. “What, do you think you can shove us together and make everything magically go back to normal? It's not gonna work.” Niall is officially delusional if he thinks this will do anything except set them off more. It's like the time his mum tried to lock his little sisters in their room together after they’d gotten into a fight. Both were so stubborn that when she peeked in an hour later, they were still sitting silently, stone-faced facing opposite corners of the room. Of course, they're _sisters,_ so they got over it by the next day. But still. No thanks to being locked together.

It just makes Louis want to make even less of an effort – not that he has to try at all, really, when Zayn obviously hates him. Hates all of them. “We're just going to be stuck here for what, days? Weeks? Are we gonna cancel the rest of the tour?”

“Don't be dramatic,” Niall laughs. “We're just staying here until you sort yourselves out.”

“What about food?” Liam asks timidly, speaking up for the first time since the situation began.

Niall motions down to the kitchen. “Got weeks’ worth, between the fridge and freezer,” he says proudly. “Even got some fresh stuff, just in case.” He nudges Harry's side.

“Whatever.” Louis doesn’t have to deal with this. He storms off down the hallway, trying to remember which door Zayn entered. There are too many fucking doors this place. He picks one at random on the left. It's empty, thankfully. It's some kind of giant bedroom with a green bedspread, and it even has a bathroom connected. Perfect. He has water and a toilet; he's pretty sure humans can survive on that for at least a few days.

And anyway, there's still a chance that no fans will show up for Niall's dumb photo, and then he can get out of here right now. He paces to the window and takes out his phone to check if anything is happening online.

And then he hears the first screams.

 

***

 

He's trapped. Zayn is trapped in fucking _Bono's_ fucking guest mansion in the middle of fucking London, surrounded by screaming people who don't even know he's here and who would be screaming even louder – and many, even in _anger_ – if they knew that he was here. It's absurd and infuriating and absolutely insane.

He needs a smoke.

The screaming outside hasn't let up for hours, and the screaming _inside_ isn't much better at the moment.

“So you _kidnap_ them?” Liam is whisper-yelling shrilly, for what must be the tenth time. Zayn can picture Niall's nonchalant shrug.

“I didn't kidnap them,” Niall says patiently. “You all came here on your own volition. I just, you know. Helped them. If they'd rather brave a crowd of rabid fans than to just stay in the same house with each other – and it's a very nice house, I might add – then they're perfectly free to leave.”

“You know that's not true,” Liam says.

“And you could've left us out of it, at least,” Harry grumbles.

“Oi! First of all, no. There are five of us, and we stick together. And second, you need this as much as anyone else. You've been almost as bad as them!”

“Yeah, because they're my _best friends,_ ” Harry says, “and my band. I don't like to see them fight.”

The admission startles Zayn, and he feels a tinge of guilt for assuming they all would have taken sides, would have taken Louis' side.

He hears one of Liam’s frustrated groans, and the voices crumble away into the distance.

He paces back to the window and searches through his pockets for the hundredth time; he still comes up without his lighter. At least he has his earphones. He sighs and flops back down to lie on the bed, one earbud dangling out, thinking empty thoughts to the low thrum of the music.

Suddenly he feels footsteps approaching from the hallway. He shoves the second earbud into his ear just as the door opens.

“Hey.”

It's Liam, something slung over his shoulder. Zayn pretends to not see him at first, but Liam just stands there in the doorway like a lost puppy, so Zayn sighs and hesitantly pulls out the earbuds, sitting up.

“I brought this.” Liam drops the bag. It's Zayn’s bag, that he’d left in the living room when he first arrived; of _course_ Liam had thought to bring it to him.

“Thanks,” Zayn says lowly, gratefully. Zayn thinks Liam might leave, but he doesn't make any move. He looks almost nervous, and after a beat he shuffles toward the foot of the bed.

“I'm sorry,” he blurts out.

“For what?” Zayn asks, blinking in surprise.

Liam pauses. “Some people say I started it,” he says a little balefully. “Y'know. The twitter thing.”

“What?”

“Um. I dunno if you saw. But I posted this video on Instagram, saying that this random karaoke guy could be the new member of the band. But he was awful,” he adds hurriedly. “Like, really really bad. I didn't mean anything by it, I swear, it was just a _joke_. No one could replace you - you know that, _no_ one. We'll never be the same without you. I mean,” he adds with a wince, the words rushing out, “I don't mean to make you feel guilty about it – I get it it, you couldn't do it anymore. But like, I'm just saying. I didn't mean – It was a _joke._ ” He shrugs helplessly and then finally looks up at Zayn, eyes wide and genuine and apologetic.

Zayn is unable to stop his face and his voice from softening. “Relax. I know it was a joke, Li,” he says, the nickname just slipping out. Zayn wants to pat his hair; it's grown so much longer since he last saw him. “Everyone knows. I know you don't mean any harm. And it's nothing to do with you. It's just.” He swallows. “Hard, yeah? I’m sorry, too, for everything.” He runs his hand over his head, caught off-guard at his short hairs even after all this time. “I wish it wasn't so complicated.”

“Yeah,” Liam says, wincing as the crowd outside unleashes a wave of louder screaming. “Um. Also, I didn't know about this, I swear.” He looks worried again, like Zayn won't believe him.

“Okay.”

Liam lets out a breath, his body relaxing just a bit. “It's good to see you, though,” he says. “Even under the circumstances. I've missed you.” He gives one of those fond, crinkly smiles. Zayn has missed those smiles.

“I've missed you, too.”

And then Liam opens his arms, and Zayn scoots down the bed and into the hug. Liam has always given the best hugs, tight and sincere, and when they finally pull away, Zayn feels worlds better than he's felt in weeks, even before the twitter fiasco.

“Hey,” Liam says gently. “They were starting some dinner now, if you're hungry. Pasta and chicken and pizza, I think. And probably more; you know how Harry stress-cooks.” Zayn snorts out a laugh, and Liam smiles. “You don't have to, but, if you want.”

Zayn considers it. Louis almost certainly won't be out there, the big, stubborn baby that he is.

But Zayn’s not hungry anyway, and he's not sure he can brave being out there with all of the rest of them. “Uh, not right now. Thanks.”

“Okay.” Liam has long since learned to accept Zayn's answers without pushing, and it's nice. “Well, if you want anything later, I'm sure you can find something in the fridge, yeah?”

“Yeah.” He gulps. “Thanks.”

 

*******

 

Louis stares up at the ceiling fan, the beams of morning light reflecting off the grey blades as it spins. It's early, but there's clattering coming from the kitchen and the thump of footsteps paces up and down the hallway now and then. Of course, even if it weren't for that noise, he still would have been awakened by the fresh waves of screaming beginning outside the house at six in the morning. It had died down only a little bit during the night. He'd read online that they were taking shifts.

But the most persistent sound in his mind is his stomach. He's starving. Despite spending so much of his recent life on airplanes, he never much feels like eating on them, so he'd already been hungry when he arrived yesterday afternoon. Harry had come to offer his cooked dinner last nightt, but apparently, Niall wouldn't allow any food to be eaten anywhere except the dining room with everyone else, the bastard, so Louis had declined out of spite.

His original plan had been to wait until Niall was asleep and load up on food to keep him satisfied for at least the day. But Niall never went to bed, it seemed, making his presence known with his periodic laughter in front of the television; and eventually, Louis' hunger and jetlag had combined and he had just passed out.

Now he has nothing, not until the fans disperse or someone comes to rescue them. And a rescue doesn't seem likely at this point: security's current plan is for them to just wait it out, since they're safe enough and no one has actual proof that they're here. Louis suspects this plan all off of Niall's lead; all the security guys always had a bizarre trust in him, probably because he's the least likely to get into trouble. Even Alberto had sided with him.

So Louis lies on the bed, arms crossed over his stomach, and painfully fantasizes about the faint but growing smells of breakfast foods wafting in. It feels like hours before finally, someone comes barreling forth to knock on his door. He has one guess of who it is.

“Up and at 'em!” Niall yells. “C'mon, breakfast. Don't make me drag you out of bed.” A moment later, another knock sounds a distance down the hall. “Zayn, you know I've done it before,” he adds loudly.

Louis figures that anything is better than this gnawing hunger, so after an appropriately long pause, he stalks forward and opens the door. Niall greets him with a blinding grin and tries to clap him on the shoulder. He pulls away, and Niall shrugs, grin no less bright.

“So what's on the itinerary today?” Louis grumbles. “First was kidnapping... I think the next step's murder.”

“Not _kidnapping_ ,” Niall corrects. “And no murder, either. _Bonding._ “

“Same thing,” Louis snorts.

Niall rolls his eyes and heads back down the corridor. “Zayn, get out here!” A door starts to creak open, and Louis shoots down to the kitchen to busy himself beside Harry.

“Full English,” Harry beams, wiping his hands on a towel beside the sizzling pans. “Beans, eggs, toast, sausage. Your favorite.” He says it proudly, as if trying to please him. Louis appreciates the effort, but honestly he would be pleased with anything at this point. He swipes a slice of toast and stuffs it in his mouth before Harry even notices it's gone.

He watches from the corner of his eye as Zayn staggers in behind Niall. Niall pokes him in the side. “Don’t worry, we have some leftover pizza for you.” Zayn's face settles just a little. That's another thing that Louis has always found annoying. What kind of person doesn't like a proper English breakfast?

They pile up dishes to carry to the table, the beautiful porcelain with its intricate silver trim standing in stark contrast to the messy mounds of food. Louis makes a pointed effort to avoid Zayn, and he ends up two seats away on the same side of the giant table so that he doesn’t have to face him. Niall squashes between them at the last minute as Louis glowers over his tea.

“Thought maybe we could tour the house after this,” Niall says cheerfully, through mouthfuls of sausage. “I hear there's a cinema somewhere in here. And I wasn't kidding about that gaming room,” he adds, nudging Zayn. He doesn't respond.

Liam tries his best to keep engaged. “'s actually pretty relaxing here,” he says, stretching his arms upward. “You guys sleep well? My bed was like a cloud.”

“Sure,” Louis grumbles, and then he reaches for another slice of toast. Zayn reaches for the pitcher of water at the same time, and their fingers touch before they both jolt back as if they’ve touched a hot stove.

“Oh, c'mon, ya big babies,” Niall says, leaning back from his spot between them. “This is ridiculous. Just make up already.”

Harry clears his throat and stares at Louis. “So we don't have to be stuck here?” he implores. That's nonsense; it's not like it's _his_ fault, and even if he could do something, they still wouldn't be able to leave.

“We couldn't get out even if we wanted,” Zayn points out, and Louis' annoyance prickles at the way they still share the same thoughts. “What with our fans still mobbing out there.”

Louis can't let that one slide. “ _You_ don't have any fans,” he says cruelly. “Thought you were just a 'normal 22 year old.'”

“Yeah, and I thought you were going to fucking mind your own business,” Zayn shoots back, “but nope, you're still an obnoxious teenager -”

“You know what -”

“Oi!” Niall yells. “Children! No fighting at the table.”

“Whatever,” Zayn says, pushing back in his chair. “I'm finished anyway.” With that, he stalks away.

“Great job,” Harry says, shaking his head. “Why can't you just be civil?”

“Because - “ Louis sputters. “Because he can't, either.”

“Well, you're helping with dishes, then,” Harry says. Whatever. Anything is fine as long as he doesn't have to see _him._

 

*******

 

Zayn spends the late morning wandering around the mansion, his annoyance gradually waning into incredulity as he finds passageway after passageway. He hasn't even seen the whole place yet. He finds a bunch of fancy sitting rooms with various color schemes and fireplaces, and one with a full bar. He finds several music rooms, what looks like a recording studio and a room with two grand pianos and an assortment of other musical instruments he doesn't know how to play. He finally finds the massive-screen cinema, too, with its gold-lined walls and plush, red velvet seats. He contemplates staying, but then he hears footsteps coming from somewhere outside and carefully escapes down another side corridor.

He runs into Liam just as he discovers the gaming room. Liam doesn’t say anything about the morning; they simply step inside together to look around the room. It has every gaming system he’s ever heard of, and a few he's never even seen. And then there are all of the arcade games, like a full arcade tucked into one big room. He and Liam play a round of air hockey (Liam wins), before he moves on to Tetris, and then pinball.

Then, of course, Louis has to come in and ruin his fun, demanding that he get a go. Liam is entirely oblivious, focused on an intense game of Pac-Man, so Zayn leaves alone. He wanders up some stairs he's never seen before and finds a small, high balcony, tucked in on the center of the roof so that no one below can see. He sits alone for a while just staring at the skyline, but it gets chilly, and he doesn't have a jumper, so he slides back down.

“Hey, Zayn!” Harry waves, catching him at the base of the stairs. “Nice view, right?” He lets out an easy smile, and Zayn nods.

“Sorry about Louis,” Harry says, giving a little eyeroll. Zayn blinks back.

Something about Harry's innocent, bashful look sends a squeezing in his chest. “Don't be sorry,” he says with a shrug. “He's right. He has the right to be. I would be angry, too.”

“Yeah, but. I don't think he's really angry at you. Just, the situation.”

It's all very Harry, but Zayn snorts. “Somehow, I don't think so.”

“If you just apologized, maybe -”

“I'm not gonna apologize,” Zayn snaps. “He was the one targeting me and my friend.” Harry looks taken aback at the response, and Zayn cringes. “Sorry, I just -”

“Wanna go down and see the basement?” Harry interrupts. “There's table tennis.” While Zayn has never found table tennis particularly convincing, he feels guilty enough that Harry's beguiling, dimpling smile is convincing. And anyway, it's not like he has anything better to do. He follows Harry down a couple of staircases into a basement.

There's a large, sparkling blue swimming pool complete with a diving board, another bar, and a few games: shuffleboard, foosball, table tennis.

“Pretty great, right?” Harry says.

He's reaching to pick up the ball when he hears a burst of shrill laughter; he whips around, and Liam and Louis come in mid-conversation. When they see Zayn, they freeze. Louis starts to back up, but he bumps into a triumphant Niall, who has apparated just behind them to nudge him forward.

It was all part of a plot. Zayn glances over at Harry, who's sporting a guilty grimace, toes pointing in towards each other.

Louis must realize what's happening, too, as he tries to squeeze back past Niall.

“No you're not,” Niall warns ominously.

“What,” Louis asks, finally grunting to face him. “You're just gonna lock us inside of progressively smaller rooms?”

“Yep,” Niall says. They glare at each other for a beat, and Niall shrugs easily. “If you'd only stop being so immature and just apologize, then we wouldn't have to do this.”

“You're the one acting like a child,” Louis says, glaring back at Niall. “You can’t just force people to like each other.”

Niall shrugs and starts tapping his foot, humming the opening bars to “Act My Age.”

“Shut it,” Louis glares, and Niall continue even louder nonetheless.

“Look,” Liam interrupts, “Niall's right, even if this wasn't the best way to do it. You guys have always been like brothers. You love each other. You both made mistakes; just apologize so we can get on with it.” His voice sounds soothing and reasonable, and Zayn hates that.

“Apologize,” Niall says sternly.

Zayn sets his jaw. Louis spins to face him but doesn't look at him, instead staring at the wall, face turned up in a sneer. “I'm sorry I tweeted about how your stupid photo with your stupid new friend was stupid.”

“Well I'm sorry I called you out for being big baby and obsessing over something that's none of your business,” Zayn shoots back.

“You two are impossible! Argh!” Niall yells in frustration before shaking his head and walking out, slamming the door behind him. Through the window panel, they can see him standing with his back to the door, probably holding it shut. Louis goes to open it anyway, turning away when it doesn’t budge.

They stand silent for an awkward moment. “Um. Anyone for table tennis?” Harry grimaces, dusting off a paddle. Zayn steps away, toward the swimming pool, and Louis remains motionless. After a moment, Liam resigns to join Harry, reaching for the other side of the table.

“Harry, there is a literal spider web on this paddle.”

“What, there's no actual _spider._ Come on, then.”

Louis finally narrows his eyes on Zayn, and they glare at each other over the strangely musical cadence of table tennis.

“I didn't do anything wrong.” Zayn states.

“Oh, I'm sorry, silly me!” Louis raises his hands. “I must have just _dreamt_ when you fucking left our band and then _lied_ about it!”

“I didn't – “

“And then went and insulted me in public.”

“Because you wouldn't stop insulting my friend!”

“Who's an arsehole.”

“You don't even know him.”

“Yeah, I don't need to,” Louis snorts. “I think I know quite enough.”

“Look, Shahid's my _friend_ ,” Zayn explodes. “Yeah, he talks shit sometimes, but so do you. You were acting like a fucking child. In _public_ , I might add. What was I supposed to do?”

“I don't know - call him out on it? Stay loyal to us?”

“You were the one riling him up, riling up the fans - ”

“ _I_ was riling up the fans?! Ha!” He snorts. “What, and it was just an accident when he posted that demo? Like, whoops, accidentally uploaded a whole song!”

“Okay, I didn't tell him to do that,” Zayn says. “ I don't, like, control him. I told him to take it down. You know, he has one of those tempers, like. Doesn’t think before he speaks.” Zayn exhales slowly. “I guess I'm just used to it.” He gives Louis a long look.

“He's riding off your career for the publicity.” Louis turns his nose up again.

“Yeah, because he’s a producer! And because I _want_ to work with him! Everyone rides off of someone's career. Our fucking band rode off of fucking Simon Cowell's career. It's not a fucking crime, especially when I'm his friend. And his collaborator, hopefully. Not to mention, he had a pretty fucking successful career before I even met him. Okay?”

“Well he doesn't have to be a little shit about it,” Louis sniffs.

“No, he doesn't,” Zayn concedes. “But neither do you.” Zayn rolls his eyes. “Look, I'll talk to him about it, okay? I've never said anything - you know I hate getting into all that promo, social media shit. But I will, okay?”

Something hits against his foot, and Harry waves apologetically from the ping-pong table. He'd forgotten that they’ve been here the whole time listening to the argument, and with the acknowledgement that comes from the eye contact, they both grimace.

Liam backs away, glancing at Harry. “Um. Let's get some more balls, yeah?” Harry nods and they scurry out the door.

Louis turns back toward him with a huff. “You just don't get it, do you?”

“Get what?

“You fucking left us, Zayn.” His voice is suddenly softer, broken, and Zayn fights back a sudden and unwelcome prickling at the corners of his eyes. “You left us with nothing. And now you’re just flaunting you in front of us, in front of the fans -”

“Flaunting? He’s allowed to post a bloody photo! We’re working together.” He scowls, anger boiling inside him once again. “What do you expect?!”

“Some decency? Some loyalty?”

“Besides, this isn’t even about that, is it? It's about you and your fucking abandonment issues -”

“You know what?” Louis yells. “Fuck you!”

“Fuck you, too.”

They glare at each other for another moment, jaws tight with anger, before Zayn turns away from him.

In the next moment, two things happen. Zayn takes a step forward, and his eyes focus on something directly in front of him.

“Shit!” He's looking straight into the eyes of a huge spider, actually hanging suspended from the ceiling directly in front of his face. “Fuck.” He scrambles to step backwards, and his foot rolls on top of the table tennis ball; he stumbles, loses his balance backwards, and falls straight into the deep end of the swimming pool. Then everything goes cold and dark.

Zayn is drowning. He knows it. The pool isn’t even that deep; he felt his shoe graze the bottom when he fell, but he can't get a footing. The pool is huge, and the edge is so far away, and he can't move, can't breathe. His clothes are weighing him down, and he's going to drown. He's pretty sure he's read something about that.

And then he hears a splash, and he feels someone touching him. He sees a blur of red and green. Is Louis trying to drown him? It would be convenient enough, with no one else around. Zayn tries to scream, but that only makes things worse; the sound that comes out is only a gurgling noise, and now he's really out of breath. He can't even think straight, gasping for air, and he tries to get a grip on Louis, desperately grabbing onto him to keep himself up. Then Louis wrenches free and disappears, and that’s it. He’s done for.

Zayn flails and tries to take a breath, but he inhales half water. Then he feels something else: he's being grabbed around his back, firmly under his arms in a lock. Louis is trying to hold him down and kill him. Zayn kicks, but it's no use in the vice grip; he's still exhausted and out of breath, breathing only in coughing, wheezing gasps. Actually, he realizes with a start, he _is_ breathing. His head has been above water for some time now. He coughs again and takes a deep breath of air, his brain finally focussing on the sounds.

“You're okay, okay?” Louis is saying from behind him, voice low and smooth. The stairs, which had seemed impossibly far away, have come closer. And then Zayn stops kicking and realizes that his feet can touch the bottom. “You're okay, yeah?” Louis repeats, ushering him forward gently. “C'mon, Z, just breathe. You can breathe.”

The next thing Zayn knows, three figures are running toward the edge of the pool. They all reach out, and Zayn grabs onto a forearm as two others take hold of his arms. They hold on to him, pulling him gently as he takes the shaky steps up the stairs before collapsing against the wall to catch his breath and cough up water. He's soaking wet, shaking with the cold and the adrenaline, and his throat and nose burn with chlorine. He squeezes his eyes shut and takes measured breaths to the sound of splashes and voices, and, finally, silence.

He opens his eyes to find Louis, equally soaked but considerably less terrified, sitting a distance beside him. He looks wound-up and anxious, but when he catches Zayn's eyes, he looks away. Harry and Liam hover above in concern, and Zayn blinks up at them.

“Are you okay?” Liam finally asks, eyes huge and clearly frightened.

Harry looks just as shocked. “What happened? We heard a scream.”

It takes a moment to find his voice again. “I fell in,” Zayn says. “There was a spider hanging down, and I tripped and fell in.”

“Are you okay? Can you breathe?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says, clearing his throat to make sure nonetheless. “I think so.” He waits for a joke or a snide comment, but no one says anything else. He glances sideways. “Um. Louis saved me.”

Louis shrugs, looking almost bashful, like it's no big deal.

“Even after I sort of tried to drown him,” Zayn continues. “I guess it's not that deep, but.”

Then the door slams open and Niall is running in with a towel and wrapping it around him, wrapping his arms around to hold him close for that moment. When he pulls back, his blue eyes are huge and frantic, filled with fear and worry. He side-eyes Louis, equally shivering and soaked, and winces again. “There was only one, I’ll go find another…”

Zayn reaches one arm out to hold the towel up. Louis hesitates before scooting beside him, pressing against his side to wrap the towel around the both of them. They shiver together for a minute until Niall returns, throwing a whole pile of towels on top of both of them.

“I've got a one of the fireplaces going, if you want,” he says, biting his lip. “Just upstairs.” Zayn nods and tries to rise, but his legs feel like jelly from all the adrenaline.

“Here,” Louis says, hopping up and holding out a hand. The four of them help him stand up, and then they wrap him and Louis like mummies, three towels each, and they follow Niall out.

Nial leads them up a staircase to a plush purple lounge with a huge, crackling gas fireplace. Louis plops down on the ottoman closest to the fireplace.

“Here,” Niall says, starting to move another chair, but Louis pats the surface beside him, and Zayn sits next to him.

They sit like that in silence, their shivers fading into the welcome warmth, before Harry breaks the silence.

“Y'know, I hate to be so forward,” he drawls, “but you two should really get those wet clothes off.” Louis rolls his eyes but snorts out a laugh nonetheless, and Zayn giggles through his shivers, giggles at the absurdity of it all. He feels a bit delirious, all four of them hovering around like mother hens making sure he's okay.

He turns back to the fire and lets the warmth soak into him.

 

*******

 

Louis finds Zayn on the upper balcony hidden on the middle of the roof. He'd discovered it himself this morning; now, after they had changed from their wet clothes and Zayn had disappeared, Louis somehow knew that this quiet corner would be exactly where he'd find him. Sure enough, Zayn is sitting tucked against the edge of the banister with his legs against his chest, looking out over London.

“Have anything to smoke?” Louis asks, plopping down on the cold tile a distance beside him. Zayn blinks in surprise, and after a moment pulls a spliff out of a container in his pocket.

“Didn't get wet,” he says, wagging it slowly between his fingers. “Lost my lighter, though.” He shrugs. Louis digs through his pocket for his own lighter. Zayn lets out a little grin when he sees it, and he puts the spliff between his lips, leaning for Louis to light it.

Zayn takes a long, slow drag before passing it to Louis. Louis does the same, the smoke clouding over them in a slow fog.

Zayn clears his throat. “Thanks for saving me.”

“No problem,” Louis shrugs.

“I know you hate me,” Zayn continues, spreading his hands. “So really, thank you.”

“I'm not just gonna let you _die_ ,” Louis snorts. He waits a silent moment before carefully bumping his knee against Zayn's. “And I don't _hate_ you.”

Zayn shrugs and looks down again. “I wouldn't blame you. After everything. I'm sorry.” The words are slow and sincere, and it makes something twist in Louis’ chest.

“You should be,” Louis says. Zayn looks up in surprise, but he must recognize the trace of a grin behind Louis' eyes, because his shoulders relax and he exhales.

“Yeah, I should. I'm sorry,” he repeats. “About the twitter thing, and everything – and what I said earlier. That was shitty of me. I'm sorry.”

Louis doesn't want to say it. He doesn't want to, but he needs to, the tightness in his throat and the clenching of his fists suddenly all too much. So he passes the spliff back and stares at the marbled banister and swallows. “Are you sorry you left?”

Zayn lets out a quiet, strangled noise. “I'm. For parts of it.” He exhales slowly. “I'm sorry it's so hard and so complicated, and I'm sorry for how it happened.” He looks up. “But no, all in all. I'm not sorry I left.”

Louis stiffens and watches from the corner of his eye as Zayn takes another long drag.

Zayn speaks again. “I just – it's the right choice,” he says more firmly. “I just had to do what's best for me.”

Louis doesn't want to fight; he _doesn't_ , but there it is again.

“Do you even realize how hard it is for us? Have you ever even thought about that?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I'm finally _happy_?”

“Have you ever thought that maybe I miss you?” Louis' voice cracks, and he goes silent for a second. “Fuck, Z, I miss you every day. I don't know how we'll go on without you.”

Zayn looks at him, almost startled, a strange, intense look to his eyes. It takes a moment for Louis to realize what that look actually is: _heartbreak._ It's love and guilt and grief all rolled into one, and it's the first time Louis' seen it.

Fuck. Liam had given Zayn the biggest hug before he left, even through his hurt and anger and confusion. Harry had set aside the fresh hurt, had taken Zayn's hands and wished him well. Niall had given him a firm hug and promised they'd keep in touch.

But Louis just hadn't. _Couldn't_. It was all he could do to unclench his hand into a wave without scowling or looking away. He had hardly even said goodbye.

“Louis,” Zayn says, the word exhaled in a ragged breath. “I miss you too. All of you, but _you_ , especially. You're my best friend, my brother, my bus partner – my whole life for the past five years. I miss us. I miss all of you, so much. I’ll miss you forever.”

“Then why did you leave us?” It comes out soft and as broken as he feels.

“Lou - you know why. It's nothing to do with you. It's me. It's – you know, everything. I just couldn't be in that place, couldn't deal with it anymore. The constant touring, the scrutiny, the rumours, being away from home – I just couldn't. I'm sorry, I tried for so long, and I wish I could, but I just – couldn't.” He pauses, and his voice turns softer. “I didn't want to walk out like that. I didn't want to make a scene. But it was just too much.”

Louis swallows and looks away, processing the words as Zayn takes another drag. Zayn had never gotten accustomed to it all quite like the rest of them; from the start, he'd always had trouble dealing with the homesickness and the rumours, and the music that was never quite what he wanted to make. It was selfish, yeah; but maybe sometimes you need to be a little selfish.

As if reading his mind, Zayn sighs and continues, pulling his knees closer to his chest and resting his chin down on his hands. “I wasn't lying. I want to be normal, whatever that means. That doesn't mean I don't want to work, to maybe make music if I can. Just - I want to be able to do things on my own time, you know? And I wanna be real to myself, all the time.” He sighs, with little shrug. “Just, be more chill, you know?”

“You mean, not fly halfway across the planet every week?”

“Yeah,” Zayn snorts, looking up, his big, brown eyes shining behind his eyelashes. He looks so vulnerable and open, Louis realizes with a start. But at the same time, he has a certain calm; he looks more relaxed than Louis can ever remember, as if a weight has been removed. And yes, maybe that's the weed, but he does look - better. Not like he's on edge or bored or like he's resigned to his life; not like he's about to snap or fall asleep. Just, better. His eyes look _bright,_ and not makeup-bright or photoshop-bright, but really bright. _Happy_ , even, Louis realizes suddenly. He looks happy.

Louis must stare for too long, because Zayn blinks and looks away self-consciously, flicking his head backwards as if to shake back hair - but of course, there isn't any. He rubs his head with one hand.

“How's it feel to have no hair?” Louis asks suddenly. “Joining Liam in the buzzcut club.” He reaches up and rubs the top of Zayn's head, his hand making contact before he even realizes that maybe this isn't okay anymore. But Zayn lets him, leaning into the touch slightly and snorting out a laugh.

“It's a nice change,” he says. “I was always jealous when Liam had one. Makes styling so much easier; can you imagine? You should try it. Reckon all of us should try it sometime.” He catches himself, something flashing in his eyes, and his face falls a bit. He looks down. “I mean, all of you. Since. Yeah.”

“Hey, it's okay,” Louis nudges his arm. “You're still one of us. You always will be, in one way or another. I get it; it's hard. It's weird.”

“Yeah,” Zayn shrugs.

“But not as weird as the idea of Harold with no hair. No thank you.”

Zayn giggles in spite of himself.

“Ever seen those photos where they switch our faces? Creepy.”

“Hey, there you are!” a new voice yells out. Louis glances backwards to see Niall stomping up the stairs. “Nothing like a little near-death experience to remind you who your friends are, hey?” Niall stoops down, elbowing Zayn in the side and moving to sling his other arm around Louis. Louis shakes him off.

“I'm still mad at you,” Louis narrows his eyes.

Niall guffaws, clapping him on the back nonetheless. “Fair enough,” he laughs.

“Hey!” Liam comes running up the stairs with Harry trailing behind. “We just checked – it's true! I think the fans are starting to leave.”

“They got some website to run a story about where we were “reportedly” seen in America today,” Liam explains with a snort. “Released some old photos. That's the last time they're trusting Niall to keep us safe without security.”

Niall shrugs. “Got the job done, innit?”

Louis raises an eyebrow. “Some would say there are better methods than kidnapping.”

“Then 'some' haven't met you stubborn arseholes,” Niall says smugly.

They all trail down the stairs, Louis and Zayn hanging behind for a moment.

“I'm sorry,” Zayn says, touching Louis' arm. “About everything. About Shahid, and about that stupid tweet. I never should have said that.”

“No, I deserved it,” Louis hangs his head. “I mean, I still don’t like him,” he maintains, “but I still deserved it. I knew from the moment I saw, really. You were just defending your friend.”

“'n so were you,” Zayn says. “Always the hero.” He says it gently, not all play.

Louis swallows.“I'm sorry, too. For what I said. I was – I was really angry. When you left, and after. I hadn't given it enough thought, I guess. I think I understand now.” His arm brushes against Zayn’s. “You look better, you know.”

“Yeah.” Zayn swallows, eyeing where the other boys have nearly disappeared down the stairway before looking back at Louis. “Are we good?”

The two of them have never been much for hugging, but Louis snakes an arm around his skinny waist. Zayn turns to pull him into an embrace, and Louis follows pliantly, tucking his smile into Zayn’s warm shoulder.

“Yeah, all good.”

 

***

 

They end up squashed together on a single sofa with four pizzas and just enough alcohol between them, watching telly and making bets for when the last fan will leave. At first they sit side by side, crushing Niall in the middle; but he seems to enjoy it, and then Harry rises to sit on Liam’s lap and unceremoniously drape himself over the four of them.

It's strange how what once felt stifling suddenly feels safe, squashed together in the organized chaos of stealing food and tangling limbs and talking over each other and the movie. Of course, the difference is that now he can get up when he wants, isn't literally trapped by the guilt and the job and the flights and hotels. Still, he'll miss this.

“Can we do this again?” He mumbles into Harry's shoulder.

“'course,” Harry beams. “Anytime. _Every_ time.”

They eventually fall asleep like that, dozing off against each other until the early morning. Harry awakens all of them, slowly, for a breakfast as the sun rises.

“Hate to cut it short,” Harry says apologetically after they've finished eating. “But, um. Jamie and Julian are actually waiting for us in L.A., and we've really got an album to write.”

Liam cocks his head. “But I thought you said he was _here_ and couldn’t leave because his eye – oh, _ooh_ ,” he says, just figuring it out. Zayn and Louis look at each other at the same time, and they burst out in laughter.

Even when everyone has their bags slung over their shoulders, and they know all the drivers are waiting, they dawdle behind the closed door. Zayn doesn't want them to leave, either.

“Good luck with the tour, and the new album, and all that,” he says. “Gonna churn out more hits?”

Liam laughs. “Yeah, we hope so. The stuff we have is sounding good. Still missing your crazy vocal range, but you know. We're good.” He throws an easy smile.

Zayn pauses, thoughtful for a moment. “That's not what Louis said, though.” Louis narrows his eyes, but Zayn just laughs and pitches his voice high. “ _Ooh, Zayn, I don't know how we'll ever go on without you!”_ Louis starts to protest, making to grab his arm, but Zayn reaches up to ruffle his hair and he stops, giving an eyeroll.

“What about,” Louis curls his voice into his terrible impression of a Bradford accent, “ _'Oh, I miss you so much, you're my whole life._ '” He makes a face and clutches his chest, and Zayn laughs, shaking his head.

“Guys,” Harry interrupts seriously. “I think Niall's getting off on this.”

He looks over, and sure enough Niall is absolutely beaming, smile threatening to tear his face apart. After a beat, they all crack up into a burst of laughter.

“I dunno how we'll do it either,” Liam says when the laughter dies down. “We'll miss you. But we'll figure it out. We'll be alright.”

“No Destiny's Child, “ _Survivor”_ -esque breakup song,” Harry confirms, waving a hand dramatically.

“I dunno, that's a good tune,” Zayn chuckles. “Don't think I'd blame you if you did, channeling the emotions and all that.” He shrugs.

“I mean, it's not like we can write about missing you, 'cause _someone_ will make fun of us for it,” Louis says, but it's easy, all banter.

“Well, I'll look forward to hearing everything,” Zayn laughs.

“Don’t be a narcissist,” Niall warns, coming up to pinch at his nipple. Zayn laughs, swatting him away.

Niall’s grin suddenly fades into something more serious. “But same to you, whatever you get up to. Let us know, okay?” He looks up, blue eyes shimmering. “You'll come to a show, yeah?” His voice cracks, and Zayn feels his eyes prickling with tears.

“Yeah,” Zayn says, still squeezing his hand tight. “I'll see – when you come back here in the autumn, yeah? I'll come. Might have to hide out somewhere, but.”

“And we'll make it to yours, if you want. Whenever you want. Be your biggest fans. Always.” Niall throws his arms around him in a tight hug. “Forever and ever”

“Even when we’re fat and old?” Zayn manages, voice muffled into Niall’s shoulder.

Niall pulls back to look at him, nodding seriously. “Even when my kids think I’m a joke.”

He can hear everyone snorting out laughter. “You two are the cheesiest saps I have ever met,” Louis whines, even though they’ve talked about it; late one night last year after the first time they’d heard the recording, they’d agreed. It’s a pretty accurate depiction of their relationship, even after all that’s happened. _Especially_ after all that’s happened.  He’ll love these boys forever.

A car horn sounds. Niall pulls him into the hug again, arms wrapped around his waist and his shoulders; it feels tighter, as if he’s afraid to let go.

And then Liam joins in; he wraps his big arms around the two of them, gripping the back of Zayn’s neck. Harry and Louis follow, squeezing around them. Somehow they all instinctively know to pull back just enough to form a huddle, the same tight huddle that they've done before and after every show together for nearly five years.

Another honk. Zayn swallows, blinks back the burning liquid pooling in his eyes. “Well. I'll miss you guys.”

“We'll miss you too, Z.” Harry sniffs. “Be good, yeah?” The hug breaks up, a mess of limbs and teary eyes.

Suddenly Harry pauses. “You too,” he whispers with a little giggle, biting his lower lip. “‘You too.’” He looks up. “Get it, 'cause we're in Bono's house, and U2...”

“Harry!” The moment is broken when they all crack up. Louis may or may not smack him in the balls. “You are truly awful.” He turns to Zayn. “See what you’re missing?”

Zayn sees them all off, watching as their cars disappear into the distance before allowing his own driver to start up. He slides in his earbuds and starts up his usual driving playlist. He pauses for a moment, rifling through the screens to find what he’s looking for and add it to the list.

Because even as he's starting this new chapter in his life, no matter what happens or where he goes, he'll still keep “Act My Age” on shuffle.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Louis was right. RIP Zaughty.


End file.
